


A Fading Bruise

by VanillaCottonCandy1216



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaCottonCandy1216/pseuds/VanillaCottonCandy1216
Summary: "We shouldn't be here," he suddenly states, as if we're not in a room surrounded by doctors and workers of District 13. And Haymitch. When my expression contorts to confusion, he clarifies. "I don't think we're safe here, Katniss." Alternate Universe in which Peeta was never hijacked in Mockingjay.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	A Fading Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is a little thingy I wrote months ago and posted then on Tumblr (under the username KatnissMellarkkkk) but I never got around to post it here. This was the first time I wrote in first person's point of view in literal years so ya know. Be gentle (:

/

Peeta's already awake, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet and moves towards me.

I feel his arms lock around my waist and in a desperate motion, he uses his weak, shaky limbs to lift me midair.

I comply without hesitation. Feeling his chest against mine, breathing in his scent for the first time in months, burying my face in his throat, gives me the strength I'd lacked since the last night in the arena.

I feel moisture hit the space where my shoulder meets my neck and I realize instantly Peeta's crying. I feel my mouth quiver in awe as my hand finds its way in his now dirty, unwashed, matted hair.

"I missed you," Peeta whimpers against me and the feeling of his lips moving at my neck sends an involuntary thrill through my body.

"I missed you so much," I cry against him truthfully, squeezing him tighter, trying to just confirm to myself, reassure myself, that he's actually really here.

As if reading my mind he whispers, "I usually wake up by now."

I laugh unsteadily, the noise coming out like a choke more than a chortle, and pull back against my own wishes to frame his face with my hands. "You're not dreaming," I promise.

He leans his forehead against mine and I meet his sorrow, broken, haunted baby blues. "We shouldn't be here," he suddenly states, as if we're not in a room surrounded by doctors and workers of District 13. And Haymitch. When my expression contorts to confusion, he clarifies. "I don't think we're safe here, Katniss."

His voice is no more than a hushed murmur and so, for some reason, I think I can convince him with gentle, reassuring words. I had somehow forgotten just how much Peeta could understand about people who he'd spent so little time with. How he trusted Finnick almost right off the bat but how he instinctively knew the people of the Capitol were vile. How he understood before I did what it meant to be a piece in someone else's game.

Still I think it's going to help for me to say, "I'm here, Peeta. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Katniss," he stops, shaking his head. "You're not safe here."

"Mr. Mellark," one of the doctors cuts in now. "Why don't you sit back down? We need to finish examining you."

I feel my face turn slightly red as I realize I'm still being held up by Peeta, but I quickly dispell the embarrassment, knowing that every citizen in this country watched me and Peeta during extremely—albeit forced—intimate and personal moments of the games. Us holding each other is nothing in comparison.

Peeta reluctantly sets me on my feet, but neither of us let go of the other. He pulls me to sit on the hospital bed, facing him while the doctors continue their prodding and poking.

I squeeze his hand every time he flinches as one of the doctors shine something in his eyes, touch a sensitive spot, ask him a question he doesn't want to answer.

I feel my eyes spill over with tears as he shakes his head to one of the inquiries. "I-I don't know?" He looks around, like a frightened animal cornered by a predator.

I can't help it. I lean in and wrap my arms around him, pressing my lips to his cheek. "It's okay," I promise, rubbing his back.

He surprises me, turning and whimpering again, "I just want them to go away."

"Okay, you heard him," Haymitch snaps, gesturing to the workers and doctors alike. "Get out. The boy wants space."

"We're not done with his exam-"

"Anything dangerously wrong with him, you'd have discovered by now. You can prod him like a test experiment after he's had time to rest," Haymitch demands.

I feel Peeta tense, glaring over at our mentor and I remember the anger he presented on television with Ceasar. I recognized, even through a screen, that his rage towards Haymitch was genuine.

As the doctors clear out, the older man comes closer, until Peeta—stronger than anything he'd said thus far—halts him. "Come any closer to me or to her and I'll rip your throat out."

Haymitch and me both blanch, caught off guard. Peeta was always the kind one, the gentle, understanding one. This was the kind of reaction I'm expected to always have, not him.

Haymitch's shocked face twists into something closer to sardonic humor and he looks at me then. "Yeah, Katniss was pretty mad at me too when she first saw me on the hovercraft. Didn't you try to claw my eyes out, Sweetheart."

Before I can respond, Peeta's already beating me there. "Too bad she didn't succeed."

I feel his arm around me and I know I should try to reason with him, try to diminish some of his anger against Haymitch, but for so long I craved these arms around me, his shouler for me to rest my head on, his smell of cinnamon and dill and something else that can never be taken away no matter where he goes. I just can't push Peeta away now. I'm not strong enough.

He rubs my back as I lay my cheek against his shoulder and give Haymitch my most apologetic look. Our mentor shakes his head understandingly at me. "Don't look at me like that, Sweetheart," he asserts gruffly.

He touches Peeta's shoulder as he walks away and I feel a pang of sympathy, because now I know, truly, deep in my bones, even if he'd never admit it, we are all Haymitch really cares about. Peeta didn't hear about his mom and brother and girlfriend. He doesn't know that Haymitch was untouchable for years to Snow because everyone he'd ever loved had been sacrificed to set an example for showing up the Capitol. How me and Peeta were the first people who stormed into his life after two and a half decades who could be used as a weapon against him.

Peeta presses his lips in my hair and I push thoughts of our mentor away. I turn my head up to look at him. "I dreamed of you whenever I could. Whenever they'd let me sleep," he whispers.

I cup his face, tracing his cheek with my shaking fingers. "How much did they hurt you?" I can't help asking—begging really is more like it. I need to know what happened to him, and if it's as bad as I imagined all this time.

"Katniss," Peeta starts and then shakes his head. He is closing down on me.

"Peeta, I need to know," I press desperately.

"No, you don't," he shoots back and I almost hear a tinge of a dark laugh and for some reason, that makes me push that much harder.

"Yes, I do. Peeta-"

"No!" He shouts and I startle, my heart skipping a beat. And then, in an instant, he's crying, harder now and I feel tears pour down my cheeks once again and he's tugging me with all the strength he has left in his battered body into his lap and rocking me, like I need to be the one taken care of. "I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I shouldn't be pushing you," I quickly amend. "I just-I can't live with myself, knowing they tortured you because of me."

Peeta squeezes me tighter, pressing his lips all over my forehead. "Shh," he murmurs but I can't take it. He can't be comforting me right now.

"I wish it'd been me. I should have been the one captured."

His response is immediate. "The one thing I'm grateful for, is that it was me and not you. I wouldn't have survived if they had hurt you."

I shake in his arms and press myself closer, so close it's like I'm trying to climb inside of him, become an extension of him. I want to ask him how he thinks I feel then but I hold it back, not wanting to make him feel like he has to comfort me anymore than he already is.

What feels like an hour passes and we stay in a huddle on the hospital bed, him holding me tight, me clinging to him, before we finally separate.

I lift my face from his chest, slowly, and gently touch his bruised, damaged face. He looks down at me with the same loving, forlorn eyes as before, but this time he catches me completely off guard.

His lips press against mine, with more strength and fervor than I believed he was still capable of.

His lips are soft and warm and tender and I can't help but return his kiss with more enthusiasm than is probably appropriate.

It's just like the kiss on the beach, the one that caused the stirring inside of me, the one that brings the hunger up from my stomach and spreads all over my body, exploding like fireworks. I want more and more and more and I'm still never satisfied.

Peeta's hands cradle my head and his tongue slips into my mouth and I moan, embarrassingly.

He pulls back and laughs a little then and I flush slightly before glaring at him as serious as I muster, waiting for him to tease me, like he used to on the Victory Tour and during training for the Quarter Quell.

But instead he just moves his lips to my forehead, then my temple, then my cheek, before his lips move to hover over my ear. "That's what kept me alive."

/

"Katniss?" Peeta murmurs softly as I finish drying his hair. "Don't cry," he pleads.

I can't help it and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for making it more difficult on him with my emotions but I can't help the tears that keep streaming down my face as I look at the thin, brutalized, scarred body of the boy with the bread.

I did this to him. Snow tortured him to punish me and it worked. I feel worse looking at him than I could have if it'd been me instead.

God, do I wish it had been me.

I'm the one who pulled out the berries. I'm the one who refused not to honor the twelve year girl who was supposed to be my enemy. I'm the one who inspired this entire rebellion.

And Peeta paid the price.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I comb my fingers through his blonde locks, trying to remove the deep tangles by hand. Pulling myself together slightly, for him more than myself, I scrub my other hand over my face, wiping away my snot and tears and rubbing them on my pants.

"That was gross," Peeta says after a beat and neither of us can help but laugh. "Come here," he murmurs, opening his arms to me again.

After we'd been stopped kissing in his recovery room, I'd asked him if there was anything he wanted. I promised internally that I'd get him whatever he needed, be it morphling or a better meal than the rest of Thirteen was offered, but in the end he just looked at me with those watery blue eyes and asked shyly for a shower.

"I haven't had one in months," he had whispered, breaking our every intense eye contact then. "Not a real one...Snow's men sometimes would pour this ice cold water on me when I went to sleep. It wouldn't stop for hours or until I just... passed out, I guess, but..." he'd stopped then to meet my eyes, which had to only contain devastation and remorse and probably a lot of affection but I don't know for sure, because I was too tied up in his words. "I'd like a real one. If..."

When he didn't continue, I prompted, "if, what?"

"If you'll stay with me?" He looked nervous to even ask me and I threw myself around him then and essentially soldered myself to him as we walked down the hall, to the private bathroom allotted to patients of Thirteen.

Part way through helping him undress, in between trying to hold back my gasps upon seeing the purple and black marks, the dried blood still clinging to old wounds, the burns marks, I remembered suddenly our first games.

I remembered being bashful about seeing him naked, even when he was half-dead from blood poisoning. How different things seemed now, as I helped him into the shower and only minutes later, upon his insistence, joined him.

I couldn't help it, and I knew that I should be a lot more conscious about the fact that we were naked together for first time and our bodies were bound to do things on their own accord, but I wrapped my arms around him, closed my eyes and held him until he winced out of pain.

"Sorry," I apologized, letting go, but he instantly shook his head and shifted his arms slightly and the next thing I knew I was being lifted off my feet and my head was against his chest and I could feel every beat of his heart and I couldn't stop myself from pressing kisses against his bruised skin.

Somehow, even in these horrendous circumstances, I felt safe when I was with him. Even when he was so weak that my frame—which was especially small after all the weight I'd lost since the last games—was straining his back, I never felt more protected than when I was with him.

I remembered the first games once again and how when he held me, his arms were the first to give me back the security and comfort my father's death and mother's cloud of depression had stolen away from me.

I'd held onto him as long as I could, then helped him wash the parts of his body he couldn't reach and waited patiently while he took care of the rest. When we'd been in there, under the cresending waterfall for so long that it turned to a cold and frosty liquid, Peeta cried out in fear, and I squeezed his hand in comfort as he quickly turned the shower off, wishing desperately there was more I could do.

He's still shirtless now as we sit on his hospital bed, but I already had helped him dry off and put pants on. "Come here," he urges again kindly, and I comply, scooting easily into his arms, without a second of hesitation.

I close my eyes against his bare shoulder, breathing him in again, attempting to memorize his scent in my brain.

"Katniss?" Peeta calls gently after a few minutes of just holding onto me. He sounds reluctant now and it's the only thing that causes me to break our hold. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?" My tone has dropped three level of sweetness and sounds a lot more like my normal voice.

"Did you...did you know?"

I just stare at him for a solid minute, trying to piece together what he's asking me, willing it not to be what I think. "Know what?" I inquire, my voice more harsh than I really intended.

"About the rebels' plan?" He confirms what I begged internally not to be true.

"Excuse me?" I snap, already leaning off his thighs I'd been straddling. "What did you just ask me?"

For some reason, he doesn't even look fearful by my clearly upset tone. "Did you know what Haymitch and the others planned on doing?" His voice remains astoundingly even as he presses me.

"Seriously, Peeta? After everything—after all we've been through, you honestly think I'd ever do that to you—you seriously think that little of me? That I would betray you like that?" I explode, jumping to my feet and hardening my gaze on his face.

"No," he says after a moment—a moment too long, if you ask me. "I mean, yes! I mean, I don't know, Katniss!" He exclaims, getting desperate now. His limbs start shaking and his eyes spill over for the tenth time since our reunion and I don't know if I want to smack him or hold him tight.

"How could you think that of me, Peeta!" I yell, apparently letting my anger win over my desire to comfort him. My feelings are too hurt to let go of what he just said and I feel far too betrayed to hug him right now. "I would have told you! I would never have gone along with anything like this! You know that! You said it yourself in your televised interviews with Ceasar!"

But his voice is surprisingly strong and rivals mine in aggreivation. "I said whatever it took to protect you, Katniss. Same as I always have. And I'd have done it, unapologetically, even if you had been in on the plan the whole time."

At that, I fell silent. What do you say to that? To someone who just said they'd protect you, right or wrong, no matter what you've done?

But still, how could he believe I'd ever be part of a plan that would put my life over his? That I would even be the slightest bit willing to sacrifice him, for any cause in the world?

Hadn't I been willing to scarified myself for him when we went into the Quarter Quell? Didn't he know that? Didn't he try to convince me to live without him, knowing I'd asked Haymitch to protect him over me?

Couldn't he see how much him being in the capitol had killed me? Hadn't he heard me say I wish it was me being tortured and held prisoner?

The hurt I felt overpowered everything else, and I felt myself start to bolt for the door. Before I was gone though I couldn't resist throwing over my shoulder, "think whatever you want about me, Peeta. I don't care anymore."

/

I was still seething with anger and bitterness, as I laid next to Prim that night. I'd ran from Peeta's room to mine without stopping in between to greet anyone. Not even Gale, who'd spotted me from down the hall as I slammed Peeta's door.

I didn't want to see him, because even from across the hall I could see he was pleased. He was getting satisfaction off mine and Peeta's fighting, and I wanted to deck someone so badly right now that if he said the wrong thing it might just be him.

After all, he wasn't covered in bruises and cowering over the feeling of cold water. He could take it easily and I didn't have the willpower to restrain myself from much these days.

"Katniss," Prim brings me back to reality, her head on my chest as she tries to sleep. Our mom's breathing, in the bed across our compartment, is steady, completely immersed in the world of the unconscious. More than once I wished for her ability to shut out the world when things got too hard, wished I could do the thing I so long ago resented her for doing.

I didn't want to feel anymore.

"Hmm?" I answer my sister, still distracted by my thoughts.

"What's going on? Between you and Peeta?" She asks, her voice more awake than I realized. When she opened her clear blue eyes I didn't even see a hint of sleep fighting to overtake her in them.

"I don't know, little duck," I whisper simply.

"Katniss," she chides and I'm reminded how much she's grown since she first was called to go into the games, since I'd first volunteered for her, to save her life.

I wonder how much I've changed in her eyes. How different I am from the sixteen year old girl who once sang her lullabies to lull her to sleep, who swore she'd never be picked for the games, who promised to try and win for her.

Who'd kept her promise but had accidentally brought an entire war, and all it's side effects, on top of her. Accidentally ripped apart the only life she'd ever known.

"You can talk to me," Prim offers, her eyes genuinely full of concern for me.

I wish I didn't have to worry her, that she could have remained oblivious and innocent and naive forever.

"It's not important, Prim," I brush off softly.

"It's keeping you awake," she argued. "So it must be sort of important to you."

I sigh, giving in because I want her to get some sleep and because, a small part of me wishes I did have someone to confide in. "Peeta asked me if I was in on the rebels' plan. He asked if I lied to him in the arena."

Something flickers behind Prim's eyes, "Katniss," She starts slowly, like she's afraid I'm going to flip out and attack her. "You did lie. To Peeta, in the arena. You didn't tell him you were planning on sacrificing yourself for him."

I start to disagree, my defenses immediately coming up. "He knew that though, even if I didn't tell him in so many words."

"Yeah but, I don't know," she says gently, shrugging. "I just feel like if I were taken by the Capitol and tortured about a rebellion I didn't even know was happening, I'd have a hard time trusting just about anyone."

Her words run around my head a few times before they sunk in. I'd taken for granted that Peeta implicitly trusted me, no matter what. We'd been through two versions of the games together, been through more near death experiences and more trauma and horror and nightmares than any person should have to go through. I thought trusting each other was the one thing we could count on.

But maybe it wasn't so simple for him. Maybe Prim was right and he wouldn't know how to trust just about anyone anymore, after he was treated like a disposable and then abandoned by the entire revolution. Abused by President Snow and his guards. Used as a pawn and left to die by even the people he thought cared about him—Haymitch's name being near the top of that particular list.

My sister brought another point up that I didn't want to admit. "You've also lied to him before," she reminds me, gently, with no malice in her voice.

I nod, knowing she's right. "I have. But I thought I was protecting him."

"Maybe he thinks that's what you were trying to do with the rebellion? He's had all this time in the Capitol to sit there and think of scenarios. It had to have messed with his head."

I nod, stroking her hair. "You're wiser than I give you credit for, Prim."

She just laughs quietly. "You said you'd wake me up more often," she reminds me, thinking of our last conversation, when she made me realize how I could demand anything I wanted in exchange for being the Mockingjay.

I smile back and hug her to me, but suddenly wish I was holding someone else in my arms.

Pressing a kiss to my cheek, my sister leans up and whispers quietly, "you should go. Go talk to him."

/

I wander down the hall, no lights anywhere along the way to give me a clue if I'm even in the right place. I stumble across the floor, using my hand on the wall to guide me until my eyes fully adjust to the pitch black of the building at night.

When I finally make it to the correct hall, the one containing the hospital patients, namely the rescues, I aburptly stumble over a body leaned against the wall.

"Haymitch?" I exclaim, my mouth working before my brain to realize who was sleeping outside Peeta's room.

"Go away," he sleepily bats my legs with his hands. "Get lost."

"Not here for you."

"Hmm?" He cracks his eyes open then and starts to comprehend his surroundings. "Oh. Hi, Sweetheart."

I shuffle my feet, suddenly embarrassed getting caught trying to sneak into Peeta's room. Which is ridiculous when I really think about it, considering he's technically still, in the eyes of all of Panem, my fiancé. Husband, maybe, if you believed Caesar's interview with Peeta the night before the last games.

But Haymitch isn't in the mood to tease me or he just doesn't find my coming by in the middle of the night as strange. I guess he wouldn't. He did ride the same train as us on the Victory Tour. He is used to us sharing a bed. "You here to see the boy?"

I nod, silently, unsure if this was even the right idea, showing up here. "Well, go in there then," my old mentor urges impatiently.

I only hesitate for a second longer before I push open Peeta's hospital room door, and come face to face with the person who, for so long, I'd desperately wished for the safe return of. The person I dreamt at night of seeing again, that I'd thought of as I clenched the pearl in my fingers, rolling it around and wishing I could touch the person who'd given it to me. The person I pronounced for all of the country to see that I couldn't live without.

He's lying on his side but I can see he's awake too, his eyes bloodshot and wet and wordlessly he holds my gaze for a solid thirty seconds before he opens his mouth to speak. I just stare at him, frozen as a deer in the woods, waiting for him to make the first move but nothing comes out.

Finally he just lifts his blankets and opens his arms and before I consciously make the decision I'm there, running towards his bed and burrowing into his chest.

I surprise both myself and him when I start shaking with sobs and he whispers reassurances into my hair, his arms holding me as tightly as they're capable of.

"I'm sorry," I cry against him, feeling more bold as my face is hidden beneath the sheets and his body.

"No, Katniss. I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have even asked, I just," he cuts himself off now and I feel his tears hit my face now too.

"What?" I push softly.

His lip quivers as he looks at me and all I want is to make him stop crying, to never see Peeta Mellark cry again in his entire life. "I just ... can't tell what's real and what's not anymore."

I feel my heart break inexplicably, having no words of comfort that could make what he's going through any better.

Contrition spreads across my body as strongly as the hunger his kisses brought on. "I'm sorry, Peeta. For everything."

"Don't apologize. I know you never intended for any of this to happen," he whispers, smoothing my hair back kindly.

"But it still did. Whether I meant for it or not, I still caused this rebellion. I'm still the reason Snow wanted to hurt you."

Peeta's shaking hands still manage to rub my back. "Go to sleep, Katniss," he orders gently.

I nod, my body exhausted even though my mind was still wired and wide awake. The constant rush of adrenaline that surges through my veins could be attributed as the cause of that.

I feel more tears of Peeta's roll of his face and land in my hair and without even lifting my head I dust my fingers under his eyes and rub the salt water away.

We've both cried too much for two people who are supposed leaders of a war. Heroic symbols for justice and equality, when really we're just two seventeen year olds the government can't seem to kill.

As if echoing my thoughts, he wipes the tears off my cheeks and presses his lips across the side of my face. "We need to stop making each other cry," he says with a quiet laugh.

"I know," I giggle back before I feel him wrap his arms tighter around me, cradling my head to his chest. It's what he always did for me, after I had nightmares of our first games. He'd wrap his arms so tight around me, I felt like there was no way anyone could come between to hurt either of us. It was one of the only feelings of security I'd had in years and I know I've never told him or anyone else this but somehow he wordlessly knows anyway.

I curl deeper into him and feel him kiss the shell of my ear, whispering something to me so soft and quiet I can't quite make it out.

"Goodnight, Katniss," Peeta whispers a little louder, his fingers running through my hair and gently easing me into sleep.

/

When I wake, Peeta's already clear eyed and entirely alert.

"How long you've been awake?" I ask groggily.

He merely shakes his head, pressing his lips to my forehead. "You didn't have any nightmares," he segues.

I smirk slightly, looking up at him now to fully meet his gaze. "That's because all my nightmares have become about losing you. Now that you're here, I'm okay."

It's not an exact quote but it conveys the message and Peeta surprises me, instead of just grinning as I expect, he leans down and presses a kiss to me, full on the mouth.

It's more intense than I'm ready for, and I don't reciprocate it as well as I should, but for some reason that doesn't bother Peeta and he pulls back to place a kiss to my nose and then my chin.

"Sorry," he immediately whispers, avoiding my eyes now. "It was the first thing I could think of to ground me."

I rub the back of his neck tenderly as he shifts to rest his cheek against where my heart beats. "Ground you?" I repeat after a moment.

Peeta hesitates like he's going to brush off the inquiry but then sighs and quietly explains. "They told me...in the capitol... that nothing between me and you was real. That you never really meant anything you said towards me, about caring about me-"

"Peeta," I cut off sternly. "You know that's not true."

"I know," he quickly assures, but his voice is too small to fully convince me.

"I meant what I said on the beach," I whisper after a pregnant silence. "I meant it when I said I need you." It's the best I can do right now and we both know it. With everything going on, I just can't sit here and dissect what I feel for both Gale and Peeta. I don't have the luxury of putting my feelings first or giving myself time to sort out my love life, while there's a rebellion resting on my shoulders.

All I can do is tell Peeta I need him and hope that it's enough, like it was the last night in the arena.

Judging by his face, it isn't now though. "I know," he murmurs, turning his head and pressing a kiss to my chest, raising goosebumps there involuntarily. "But, there was a lot me and you both did solely for the cameras," he reminds, almost defeatedly. "And... I guess sometimes it's hard for me to understand what parts were real for you. I know you care about me, Katniss, I do. But the thing is... every time I said something romantic or over the top for the games, well... they weren't necessarily untrue. I wouldn't have said them on national television if I didn't think it'd save your life but I still meant them."

I freeze, unsure what to say. I knew that, I knew he loved me with everything inside of him. I knew that, even on the Victory Tour. Didn't I just quote him saying something to me privately that spoke to his undying love for me? But I wasn't ready to give any more than I already had. Not even to the sweet boy with the bread, the kind heart who'd never turned me away, the person who was there for me no matter how much I hurt him.

He feels my body tense and continues steadily. "I don't expect you to make some kind of declaration here, Katniss. I know you're not ready. And I know you and Gale still have something between you. I just... sometimes I need to just reassure myself that there were things that happened between me and you that were real. That it wasn't all fake."

"Peeta," I say and my voice is more desperate and closer to a whimper than I anticipated. "Of course parts were real." I grab his chin and make him meet my grey, glassy eyes. "I need you," I repeat now, my voice firm as I can make it. "It's been hell these last few months with you in the Capitol. I couldn't even think straight. All I could think of was you. They had to literally sedate me because I got so upset..." my voice cracks and snaps and breaks and I squeeze my eyes shut before I can do something pathetic like sob for the tenth time on him.

He's been tortured because of me and I can't stop crying.

I'm sickening.

I feel him shift from his position with his head laying against my chest, now moving to lean over me, his breath caressing my face. His hand comes to rest on my head, his thumb brushing over my forehead soothingly, before he uses all the strength he has left to exert himself and unexpectedly rolls us over, lifting me on top of him, wrapping his arms tight around me in an embrace that comforts him just as much as me.

Instinctively, I snuggle deeper against him, my face finding a home in his shoulder. After a few minutes—and when I can talk again without the risk of my voice cracking like a weakling—I deadpan against his battered, tender skin, "Isn't this hurting you?"

Without missing a beat he replies, "yeah, you're heavier than I remember."

I raise my hand to lightly smack him when I remember the blood and bruises and scars and think better of it.

He chuckles and moves his mouth to kiss my forehead once again, his lips lingering now. "This is healing me more than you even know," he whispers into my hair but I don't think he intended for me to hear him.

/

An hour later, two of the District Thirteen doctors enter the room, effectively breaking our embrace.

When they ask to speak to Peeta alone, I feel his grip tighten to a painful level on my hand and I, involuntarily, go into complete protective mode. "I'm not going anywhere," I inform, as much a comfort to Peeta as a threat to the doctors, willing them to try and push me.

"Ms. Everdeen," President Coin's voice rings clear, despite her barely stepping foot into the room. "I'd appreciate a word with you."

I feel Peeta's body tense up beside me and his hand loosen its iron grip on mine despondently.

"I'm not leaving Peeta," I declare, not caring how much of her ire I conjure.

But a different voice joins them now, waltzing through the doorway, bumping President Coin carelessly. "I can stay with him, Sweetheart," Haymitch offers, giving me a meaningful look and I know I have no choice but to go with Coin.

My instincts still trust Haymitch, despite everything, despite him keeping the rebellion a secret from both of us, despite my initial fury upon being plucked from the arena without Peeta.

But Peeta no longer trusts Haymitch and so, because of that, I wait for him to say it's okay.

He doesn't look too confident but nonetheless, we're both outnumbered and unfortunately for me, I promised I'd be their Mockingjay, as long as they rescued Peeta and gave him an unconditional pardon. I didn't put a timecap on that deal. "I'll be fine," he finally murmurs, his voice void of all emotion as he drops my hand a little too abrupt for my liking.

Haymitch nods now and dismisses me before focusing on Peeta and President Coin quickly directs me to follow her and I don't want to leave his room, I don't want to leave him behind again, but I know I have no choice.

Still, I lean over and kiss his cheek in front of everyone and for the first time maybe, the public affection isn't for the camera or the audience or for anyone else but for me and him and I wish it didn't sting so badly to see him avoid my eyes as soon as I pulled away.

Haymitch pats my head as I walk past him and I wonder if Peeta is mad that I have forgiven our mentor for deceiving us.

Following Coin all the way back to her office, I'm unsurprised to see Plautarch waiting. I should have expected he'd want to see me again, probably to talk about my next propo.

"Ms. Everdeen!" He greets, as if I was his favorite person on the planet and as if I chose to come visit him, instead of being essentially forced.

"Hi," I say lamely, taking a seat across from him uncermously.

"We brought you here to talk about the rebels' plan," Coin informs, ignoring pleasantries for once and getting right to the point. "I know you'd rather be getting reacquainted with Peeta, Miss Everdeen. But the revolution could really use the Mockingjay at a time as crtitcal this one."

I nod, absorbing this. I'd been so drowned in Peeta and everything going on surrounding him that hearing about the rebellion again felt akin to being dredged up from underwater and having my head forced above the surface.

I made this deal to protect Peeta, and then I kept going to protect the people of Panem who couldn't fight for themselves. I needed to fulfill my promise to the best of my ability.

I had too many people counting on me to fail now.

All I had to do was think of Prim and see the opportunities she was receiving here, that she never would have been given without this rebellion.

If the rebels won, if the entire country turned on Snow, thousands of Prims would have their lives bettered because of it. Thousands of children would know a world without certain death and the fear of reaping day and the systematic inequity, how one population could receive endless supplies of food and clothes and fancy jewels and money, and another would consider it a success if they lived through the day without starving.

I looked at Coin and Plautarch and my answer was simple.

"What do you need me to do?"

/

I wasn't even going to tell Peeta. That was my kneejerk reaction. I had no plans and no intentions of letting him know I was being sent to District Two, to help settle the fighting.

But then I remembered our fight the night before and realized, maybe in that moment more than I'd ever realized before, how right he was to question my honesty. Not just with him. I was too comfortable lying to those I love to keep them from worrying or panicking or sharing any sort of burden with me.

I knew I needed to tell him, if for nothing else, then for the sake of building trust between us. For the sake of reassuring him, even when he feels like he can't trust anybody or anything in sight, he can trust me. We're still in this together, like we've been since our first games.

But then Haymitch caught me by the elbow as I passed the cafeteria a little too sharply and hissed in my ear. I thought at first he knew my original notion and was going to scold me for ever planning on running off and sneaking back in without telling Peeta, but instead the harsh nature of his words wasn't even directed at me.

"He's had a meltdown. The boy," Haymitch clarifies as if I wouldn't know exactly who was talking about without some kind of hint. "The soldiers of Thirteen—they interrogated him."

"Interrogated him?" I exclaim, my voice more thunderous than intended. Half the cafeteria turned to glance my way at my words. Somehow that didn't halt my anger at all. "Interrogated him, how?" I demand.

Haymitch didn't reply, just kept his grip on my arm and led me briskly down the hall to Peeta's recovery room.

As soon as I was inside, I saw Peeta, curled up in a ball on the bed, tears pouring like rainfall down the side of his pink, sore, damaged face.

"They wouldn't stop, even after he started getting upset," Haymitch added behind me, reminding me of his presence. I would have completely forgotten he was even here if he hadn't spoken, so lost in the broken boy before me. The boy who was snapped like a useless twig because of me. "They shoved me into a wall for trying to interfere. He was thrashing around by the time they finally let up and no one could calm him down. The only thing that got to them was promising you would quit being the Mockingjay if he wasn't okay."

I felt tears prick my eyes, stinging unbearably. "What did they interrogate him about?" I ask, though I know I don't want to hear. Whatever it was that had caused such an upset in someone as naturally calm and level-headed as Peeta had to of been horrifying.

Haymitch didn't miss a beat though. "What the Capitol did to him. You. Anything he could think of seeing while being tortured. The other victors...they pushed him for a lot of grumsome details, Sweetheart. Things that even I flinched hearing." Haymitch's words are more of a warning than anything else now. "Just... be gentle, okay?"

I nod, my eyes never breaking their concentration on Peeta's restless, silently sobbing body.

Haymitch had one last thing to add though. "They told him about his family. That they all died in the fire. He pretty much was already begging to be done at that point but they told him anyway. I think they hoped it would magically make him confess some Capitol information he was 'withholding' from them. When they said they were going to sedate him, I had to wrestle the needle out of their hands." I snapped my neck back around to look at him, hoping he was joking. I saw then, in the bright, painful, ugly yellow lighting of the hospital room, the bruises on Haymitch's jaw that had only started to form, that'd surely turn purple by nightfall. And I started to see the things the people I was working for were willing to do to get whatever they wanted.

"Can you trust the people you're working for?"

Peeta's words, his duressed words from his hoax interview rang in my ears. Could I trust these people?

I didn't know but before I could ponder any further, Haymitch was adding more gasoline to the fire burning in my mind. "Katniss, they used to sedate him in the Capitol after beating him half to death. Or after forcing him to listen to a tape of your screaming. That's why he panicked when they got out the needle. That was his final straw."

I couldn't take it anymore at that point, and I entirely ignored that our old mentor was still behind me, and I raced towards the bed holding the only person I cared about at this precise moment.

"Peeta?" I whisper, my voice completely shattered with grief.

He catches me off guard, easily registering my presence even through his upset. He trembles but lifts his arms to me, an invitation, and I'm already halfway onto the hospital bed before I'm aware he summoned me.

I instinctively begin stroking his hair, my other hand hugging him to me as tight as I can, trying to remain mindful of his injuries. Somewhere in the background, I hear Haymitch grunt and close the door behind him, undoubtably unable to process any more emotional scenes right now.

Peeta speaks so softly and so low, it's essentially nothing more than a croak. "I tried to not break, I tried to hold it all in, but they kept pushing and pushing and pushing," he gasps for a breath and chokes on a sob.

"It's okay, baby," I whisper, my hand stroking his face. "I won't let anyone hurt you now."

I don't know why I make a promise I know I can't keep but it's all I can say and it slips out before I can stop myself.

His trembling only grows stronger with my promise. "Please don't interfere with them, Katniss," he pleads. "I—I can't take you getting hurt. If they hurt you I don't know—I couldn't stand it, I would lose my—"

"Peeta," I cut off, taking his face in my hands. "It's okay. No one gonna hurt me."

But his face only becomes more solemn. "Katniss, these people aren't too different from the ones in the Capitol," he murmurs, desperately urging me to understand his meaning. "They're no better."

"Peeta," I start to argue but hold my words in. The last thing I want is to start an issue between us right now, when he's already in so much agony.

For some reason though, in the back of my mind, his words ring familiar to me and it strikes me after a moment that what it reminds me of is the night before our first games. When he referenced not wanting to be a piece in the Capitol's games, when I hadn't been able to comprehend what he was saying, when I huffed away, immature and stumped, only to have the words imprint in the back of my brain, to remember them throughout the entire time I spent in the arena and then after.

Perhaps I wasn't the one who started this revolution. Perhaps it was the golden boy with the bread and blue eyes, who appeared as sunshine on screen but was more cunning and crafty than anyone could ever perceive.

Peeta's words broke me from my own trance. "Is my family really dead, Katniss?" At my frozen and unprepared expression, his face crumbled again. "Did I really never get to tell them goodbye?"

Oh God. My heart plummeted and my gut twisted and my head spun as it hit me how sorry I'd felt for myself, how much I'd grieved my own goodbyes to my family on the train to the Quarter Quell. Peeta had tried to reassure me then, tried to comfort me but I'd pushed him away, because at the time I'd had no intention of returning home and I thought for sure they were my last goodbyes, that I'd had my last moments ever with my family ripped from me violently.

Only my family were all right here. My family had all managed to survive, thus far.

While every member of his burned to death in a bakery consumed by flames.

I don't have words to comfort him or a magic wand to make it all go away. A part of me wants to sedate him now and is glad that Haymitch informed me that doing so would only cause further detriment, because I just want him to get some peace.

I stroke him face and kiss his tears and rock him and wrap myself so tightly around him, I can feel every quiver of his body, every cry he tries to suppress, every word he can't quite spit out.

But it still doesn't feel like enough.

And I wonder, is this another reason to fight? Fight the Capitol as the rebels' Mockingjay? Or is this a reason to quit?

Can I really trust who I'm working for?

/

I stay until Peeta fell into a light slumber. One that surely wouldn't last for very long, but hopefully I'd be in Two by the time he woke up and then back again before he had time to revel in my absence.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, I murmur, "I'll see you soon," against his skin, but somehow hope he isn't able to hear me.

I hadn't told him about the mission, and now, after he'd been forced to relive how own horrors just mere hours after escaping them, after he'd just been told his whole family was dead, and that he'd never get to say goodbye—or make amends with his witch of a mother—I just couldn't drop more pain into his lap. There is no reason on Earth that could convince me to burden him with any more worries or fears than he's already facing. I will not, under any circumstances, add to his suffering, if I can help it.

I was going to write him a note, explaining where I'd gone and that I'd be back soon. That way if he found out I'd gone to Two, he'd be finding out directly from me and not a careless stranger. Or our coarse mentor.

But as I slip out of the room, I run almost headfirst into a completely different problem.

Gale.

I hadn't forgotten about him. Just the opposite, I had hoped to run into him, to apologize for my absence since Peeta had returned, to thank him for rescuing him despite his own personal feelings.

But before I could say any of those things, I caught sight of his eyes. His stony, bitter eyes.

"What?" I snap, already knowing what he was thinking. Benefit of being so alike and knowing each other for so long.

He matches my tone effortlessly. "Just wondering if you planned on joining the mission today."

But I wasn't going to be made to feel ashamed. "The mission doesn't leave for another hour," I state as I pivot and head down the corridor.

He quickens his pace to keep up. "I'm aware of that but—"

"Did you know they interrogated Peeta?" I cut off, my tone sharp as ice.

His is rather biting as well. "Yes, I did. Sounds like you have a problem with that."

That stops me mid-step. "Of course I have a problem with it, Gale! He's been through absolute hell and back for months because of me and because these leaders here deemed him expendable. He doesn't need to be tortured here too."

"He's not being tortured," Gale immediately argues, rejecting the sentiment without a second thought. "All they did was their jobs. Which is to protect the Revolution."

"By tormenting someone who's been held prisoner?"

"It was protocol!"

"It was abuse!"

Gale just stares back at me, for a moment seeming to be taking me in for the first time. "These people here rescued you. They are fighting for an equal country," he says finally. His words are true but they come with an infuriating air of righteousness and I wonder how it'd feel to smack him. I wonder why I kissed him the other day.

"An equal country doesn't mean they have to harass kidnap victims," I state, holding my ground until the bitter end.

"An equal country doesn't happen by everyone being mindful of each other's feelings," Gale shoots back, and I just turn and walk away. After me he calls, "what if it was anyone else? What if it wasn't Peeta who'd been kidnapped? What if it were someone else and there was a chance that they'd seen something useful, something that could help a lot of people. Or a chance that what they did to him could help us with our strategy. Could tell us what the Capitol is planning on doing next—"

"He told everyone that, when he said on national television that they were going to bomb Thirteen. He risked his life for us—"

"And I risked mine to save him. I did that for you," Gale all but spat now and the reminder felt like a harsh slap to the face. "And yet, I don't think you even remember that."

Before I could respond, he's already walking away.

/

I leave without writing Peeta a note. I spent the better part of thirty minutes attempting to write something that was both comforting and truthful. That wouldn't alarm him but wouldn't lie to him either.

In the end, all I can think about is Gale and how furious he was and how he felt I'd betrayed him now and how maybe I did. Maybe choosing to put Peeta above the rebellion, above the well being of the country, was a direct betrayal to my fire-hearted best friend, who thought the well being of the masses was more important than the well being of those we love.

I wanted to hate him for it but instead I just hated myself, and in the end, I wound up writing absolutely nothing to Peeta and leaving without telling him goodbye.

I should have known that would horribly backfire on me.

Doesn't it always?


End file.
